Six Sentences was the first ezine to publish my stories. Thanks to the encouragment of Rob McEvily and his New York Times recognized publication, I've been on this writing journey for 3+ years now, and accept my rejections, enjoy my successes, and savor every minute of this process. Having said that...
...with my new position at my restaurant (Moonstones in case you find yourself in Chelmsford, MA) I am finding it difficult to find writing time. I will figure this all out soon, trust me, but until then I've decided to showcase some of the stories Rob accepted. This one originally appeared as part of a 6x6 collection. This is a fictional, semi-autobiographical piece *smirk*.
As always, comments accepted and appreciated.
I find dimes, and that makes me smile. Sometimes I find them in obvious places, such as under cushions or on the sidewalk or even on the window ledge, but always dimes; never pennies or nickels or quarters.
One time a dime materialized on the kitchen counter after I sponged it clean and another time one fell on my forehead as I sunned myself in the backyard. They arrive whenever I don’t trust my decisions, to assure me, as if to say, “That’s right!”
I just came back from putting down my sick dog, and a dime twinkles from her empty food dish. Sure, the dimes reassure when I decide to play hooky from work, or when I resist the urge to spend money on a frivolity, but hell, I want -- no, make that need -- that shiny Roosevelt comfort when I wield the power of life and death in my hands.